


Fatherhood

by lavolpe (lykxxn)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, Gen, Kidfic, Volpe + children, Volpe being a father, cuteness, didnt see that coming, i apologise in advance for abusing the tag system, volpe angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:26:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/lavolpe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fox is always loyal to his cubs.<br/>[A collection of one-shots]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fatherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It comes naturally to him to give this child as much comfort as he possibly can.

Firenze is unusually dark, but Volpe expects nothing less for a chilly, December night. He works by candlelight, pulling his cape around himself in an attempt to stay warm. It is Christmas soon, he remembers, and although he doesn't celebrate it anymore, he never forgets to give his thieves some sort of thanks, usually a small purse of coins from his own pocket.

Still, he must push this event to the back of his mind. There is assassin's work to focus on, and despite the fact that he's sure it is pushing on half twelve, it needs to be finished. He dips the quill into the inkwell and continues to write. The quill scratching becomes a constant rhythm, lulling him despite the increasingly chaotic and violent words he is writing. 

Volpe's hand is sore after around a quarter of an hour, and he deems this a sign that he should take a break. He rises from his chair, and makes his way toward the window. The stars illuminating the inky sky are like a breath of frosty air, but it is too keep cold for Volpe to stargaze for long. Instead, he takes a walk down the candle-lit corridors of the guild.

He passes several bedrooms where his young novices sleep, thieves and assassins alike. They do not know what they are destined for. Maybe it is for the best, Volpe muses. They are too young for such violence and responsibility, but he doesn't doubt that too many of them have already seen it.

Damn Templars.

He walks down another corridor, his mind no less clear than it was before he started walking. He isn't sure whether this walk was such a good idea after all. Nevertheless, he must finish what he started.

As Volpe turns a corner, there is a sound that stops him dead in his tracks. Crying. There is somebody crying.

 " _Dio_ maledetto," he hisses, and he cannot help but worry as terrible, terrible thoughts cloud his mind. Somebody is hurt. Somebody, may the Lord have mercy on their soul, has hurt one of his cubs.

He turns the corner, hurrying down the corridor as he gets closer to the noise. He almost trips over the small lump curled up against the wall, sobbing with all its might.

Volpe springs into action. He kneels down, putting one hand against the child's knee gently. " _Bambino_ , what's wrong?" he murmurs.

The child sniffles and reaches out its arms towards Volpe. Instinctively he pulls the child into his arms, where he can see that this child is in fact a boy.

_Guido di Pietro._

The name lays on the tip of his tongue. The boy is far too thin, far too small. He is barely ten years old, and newly orphaned.

Damn Templars.

Volpe adjusts Guido on his hip. No doubt he misses his parents, and there is an ache in the old fox's heart, for he knows there is no remedy for grievance.

The boy sniffles, burying his head in Volpe's chest. "I want my mamma," he whimpers, barely loud enough to hear.

"I know,  _cucciolo_ ," he says softly. Already Volpe is making his way back to his quarters, knowing that he will not be able to rest until he is certain that one of his own is safe and sound asleep.

Guido is still in his arms, save for a little fidget every once in a while. Upon reaching Volpe's quarters, the fox lays him down, stroking the child's hair comfortingly.

"I want my mamma," he says again, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

Poor, poor boy.

That poor, poor boy who has lost everything, all because of the Templars.

Volpe sits on the end of the bed and tucks him in. Gently he begins to hum an old tune, hoping to lull Guido to sleep.

It is a frightening, lonely world for a child with no parents, nobody to care for him, and no protection. He is very much vulnerable.

Volpe speaks from experience.

Guido's eyes are heavy, and he gives a quiet little yawn, pushing some of his dark hair as he stretches in the bed.

Volpe isn't sure if this is working, but he keeps going just in case it is. He remembers once upon a time, so vague and blurry a memory he isn't sure whether it's real anymore, his mother sang him to sleep. His voice doesn't exactly mirror the soft bells he remembers, but he doubts it matters to Guido, or any other child. All they need is someone to be there.

The rhythmic rise and fall of Guido's chest show that the child has fallen to sleep, and Volpe rises as quietly and gently as possible.

He resumes his position at his work desk, and the sounds of Guido's soft but heavy breathing is accompanied by the scratching of a quill. He feels at peace, as if this is where he is supposed to be.

Deep down, however, Volpe knows that is not possible. He will always be King of the Thieves. He can have no other title. He will never be like other men, who have the privilege of being husband and father. He can only be mentor.

He relishes the moment when his novices and thieves are young and have nothing, because he knows they will reach for anything. He craves their touch, their love, so full of innocence. They are but children, and all children want is to be loved.

He loves them. He cares for and about them. His stomach sinks with uneasiness and dread every time he sends them out into the world. He doesn't care who he is, or who their parents are or may have been. They are _his_ children, and he is their _father_.

When he finally puts his quill down, he looks over to Guido, still peacefully sleeping. He undresses and finds a clean nightshirt to wear. He rubs at his eyes in exhaustion, finally getting into bed on the opposite side to where the small boy is sleeping.

Guido wakes a little, and Volpe waits with bated breath, hoping he hasn't woken for good. "Papà?" he asks softly, still half-asleep.

Volpe's heart leaps in his chest. He knows this isn't real, that the boy hardly knows what's going on, but some other part of him lets him pretend, just for one moment, that this is his son.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, purposely not answering the child's question. He neither wants to lie to him nor wake him up further by crushing him with reality.

Guido will not remember when he wakes up. But Volpe will. He will never forget it.

He lays awake for hours, staring at the ceiling as the boy sleeps beside him, wondering what could have been.

He could've been married by now, with two sons and a daughter. He could've had a stable childhood, taking all the time with his parents for granted.

Damn Templars.


End file.
